Her Insatiable Thirst
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: Morgana in her quest to find Emrys has kidnapped a mysterious prisoner who seems to know everything she needs to know. But the captive slips from her grasp without revealing anything, and makes a remarkable discovery below Ismir. Set before and during the events of Arthur's Bane.
1. Morgana

Morgana's army of thugs was feared by many. The men it was composed of were not sorcerers – indeed, they didn't have much mental skill at all. But this didn't mean that their powers were of no use to the High Priestess. No, their skill lay in force. Brute force.

The gang on patrol was led by the most brutish of them all – a hulking giant of a man, with a face much like that of a bulldog, and muscles bulging unpleasantly beneath his armour, giving the impression that he would burst out and the metal plates be strewn across the snow. He did not have outstanding leadership skills – no, he had been chosen on strength alone. Strength, and inhumanity.

Like a lumbering mountain he led his cronies across the icy path until he came to the place. Nobody was there. Or at least, it looked as if nobody was there. Well, he would soon find out.

The group stopped. The sound of stomping boots lingered long after they had fallen still, creating a threatening atmosphere. The men looked around them; the snow obscured everything, but at the same time made anything that wasn't white stand out.

And then he saw her. The figure. A small, thin girl huddled against the wall, swathed in a cloak, trembling violently, unable to move in the cold. The thought crossed the men's minds that she must be a bit dim, being out here with only a cloak to keep warm, but no pity accompanied this observation. They couldn't afford pity; and anyway, few of them were much good at emotion.

Very slowly the girl lifted her head, her eyes narrowed against the bitter wind. She had known the men were there before she saw them; she knew she was caught. It was as if she was in a trap, though no net surrounded her. There was no escape.

She let the men come to her; she appeared almost relieved as the leader picked her up roughly and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. They did not hurt her overmuch; the orders had been to let her live.

A very faint smile came to the leader's face as he imagined the pain that would most likely follow. Knowing Morgana, this girl would probably end the day wishing she had been killed there and then.

* * *

><p>In a very slow and deliberate movement, Morgana pulled the wing from a roast chicken; she smiled with grim satisfaction as it came away easily, snapping like a twig underfoot. Now she separated meat from bone with her fingers; now she cracked the bone to get at the marrow inside, sucking on it with a kind of childish pleasure. Such rich meals had become rare lately. This was a luxury; she would savour every bite.<p>

'Not hungry, Mordred?'

Across from her, a young man looked up, startled. He had not touched his own platter. 'I… I ate too much for lunch,' he told her, lying through his teeth. He didn't like lying to Morgana, but he couldn't tell her what he was thinking. In truth, Morgana's sadistic dissection of her dinner was making him feel somewhat ill.

'Better keep your strength up,' Morgana said, mocking him slightly.

He nodded, picking very delicately at the meat. She was always making fun of his inability to develop decent muscle; she didn't think that magic was enough of a skill for him to be at her side.

'Why did you raise the alarm earlier?' Mordred ventured.

'A sighting of someone outside the fortress,' Morgana replied. 'Don't worry. I'll deal with it.'

Mordred tried to hide the shudder that had risen up inside of him. He knew Morgana's ways of dealing with people. 'Someone from Camelot?'

'I don't think so.' For a moment Morgana was silent, scrutinising the inside of her chicken with distracted fascination. 'No, I believe our intruder could be more useful than that.'

Mordred looked interested, but Morgana did not expand on the matter. She finished her meal and stood, draining her glass in one gulp, and told Mordred to follow her.

* * *

><p>The hall was confusing to the eye if one studied it too intently; the black and white marble seemed to flicker in the firelight, its veins showing up as scarlet streaks, as if blood ran down the walls. Enough blood had been spilt in this hall for that not to be an impossible story. But the marble throne that stood in the middle of the room did not flicker; its colour remained an obstinate, oblivious black.<p>

And on the throne sat Morgana, her dress the hue of raven wings, her deathly pale face striking against her dark hair.

'So,' she said, 'you are our intruder.'

The girl said nothing. She watched as Morgana studied her, making sure no sign of fear betrayed the feelings she felt inside of her. The witch's face was almost friendly, but her eyes flashed as if an inferno resided within her. Scratch the surface and the fire would break loose, destroying all in its path.

'Who are you?'

The seemingly innocent question did not trick the girl. She did not respond, and pushed once again against the enchanted rope that bound her; it seemed to get tighter every time she tried.

'Who are you?'

She could not betray herself. If she were to give a name, and a name only, that would do nothing – her name meant nothing – but she was determined not to say anything. Let her kill her if she wanted to. She would never give in.

'Tell me where I will find Emrys.'

Ah, now she was getting somewhere. The girl looked up, knowing now why she had been brought here. Still she did not speak.

'You know the name. Where is he? Who is he?'

Nothing. Silence filled the hall: a tense, suffocating silence.

'I will let you free unscathed if you would only tell me what I want to know.'

The voice now was persuasive, soft, an attempt at kindness. Morgana was a queen amongst tempters. Yet still the girl said nothing; she must have a death wish. Perhaps she should be killed now, got rid of before she became too infuriating – but no, the information she held was too important to let her die.

Suddenly, the girl felt a prickle in her mind – an icy tendril, a piece of Morgana's consciousness – invading those memories and thoughts which should not be revealed. At once her mental defences sprang up, blocking the attack. Morgana's upper lip curled; she hissed quietly with unsuppressed anger. 'Very clever.'

The girl still she held her mouth in a grim half-smile, coldly glad at her victory thus far over Morgana.

'Mordred –'

Morgana's protégé came forwards from the back of the room, bowing slightly. The girl studied him with something akin to curiosity: this man whom Morgana chose to have at her side, the one whose status was above those who had captured her, was a man with a serious, good-looking face – studious perhaps – and a thin frame that looked as if it could snap at any moment. Unsurprisingly, considering he didn't look like a warrior, he was eager to please. 'Yes, my Lady?'

'Mordred – make this wench see sense.'

He paled, understanding by this that he was supposed to torture the girl until she spoke. 'I… I can't, my Lady. I'm sorry. I can't.'

She stared at him, trying to work out if he was such a weak character as he seemed to want to appear. But no – she could not expect people to be able to torture others at the drop of a hat. The lad had never done such a thing as that before. He had killed, yes – but this required a different skill, a different sort of person.

Thus she turned to the man who stood by the window – the man who had brought the girl to her. He would do. A lack of emotion usually sufficed for such a task. 'You. Get the information from her. Now!' She could not hold back her desperation. She was so close to getting the answer for which she had long searched for – she wanted it immediately. Nothing more could get in her way.

'Where is Emrys?'

The man stepped forth and drew his sword. The girl did not flinch but her face gained a deathly pallor. Her eyes followed the heavy, lumbering footsteps of the brute, watching his every movement. His sword gleamed a bloody red in the firelight. His shoes, she found herself noticing, were protected by boots with vicious-looking steel toecaps; iron spikes protruded from the bases, meant for walking on ice but available should he need them. Well, let him use them. He still wouldn't get anything from her.

In one motion he swung his sword and drew a surprisingly careful line across her flesh. For a moment she did not feel it; then she felt the searing pain, the line of fire that raced across her bare arm. Blood welled up from the wound and flowed across the pale skin. It was excruciating; she opened her mouth in a silent cry, and her limbs pushed unconsciously against the ropes. Quickly Morgana cast some kind of spell; the injury closed up, leaving no trace – not even a scar – but the pain was still there. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

'Where is Emrys?'

The sword flashed through the air again. It cut easily through the skin, following a line parallel to the last one; she cried aloud this time, trying and failing to bring her arm to her face. Her muscles clenched, squeezing rivulets of blood over the edge of the wound. This time Morgana waited a long while before healing the wound; she watched the girl's face contorting in pain, wondering how much she could take. Then she sealed it up; only rivers of red were left to show that there had been any wound.

'Where is Emrys?'

Mordred, standing at the entrance to the room. His face was far too innocent for one who was watching such things. It was blank, expressionless. What was he thinking, she wondered, beneath the silence? Why did he watch her and do nothing? He had refused to carry out the torture, and yet he could stand and watch. She had thought him human – and now he was a shell, inhuman, alien.

'Where is Emrys?'

The sword again. Her vision flickered; fire appeared in front of her eyes, obscuring the room, obliterating the insane face of Morgana. As long as she knew that Morgana was dissatisfied – as long as she did not speak, then she would have succeeded.

'Where is Emrys?'

Her leg this time. The bare flesh above her ankle seared and split. Her vision darkened. She would faint with but a few more – she would fall into darkness, and that would be the end – the beautiful, painless end to her suffering. She did not fear death. Not now.

'Where is Emrys?'

A void. Complete oblivion, dancing before her eyes, ringed with the red of hellfire. How could she come so close and yet not reach unconsciousness? How much pain could she take?

'Where is Emrys?'

Now the toecap, digging into her thigh, piercing a hole half an inch deep, burying itself into her and retreating at last, leaving a gaping wound that poured out blood.

'Where is Emrys?'

The ice-spikes. One kick, and – no pain. No pain any longer. It was done. There was the void, coming to meet her –

* * *

><p>A sour taste filled her mouth. She was aware of being awake, but still she could see nothing. No – there was a pinprick of light, right in front of her. Where was it coming from? She tried to see it more clearly, squinted –<p>

And opened her eyes. She had been half-asleep still. Now she was conscious, awake, alive –

Alive, and without pain.

That was a strange thing.

There was a rushing noise coming from somewhere, like tumbling water. She blinked and listened intently. No – it was in her head, a noise in her ears. Apart from that everything was completely silent.

Where was she? She looked around, rubbing the dust from her eyes. It was an ancient cavern, carved from sandstone and lit by an unseen source. The walls were not dry: they seemed to glisten with water droplets, though the air was arid.

She sat up. The pain in her arms and legs had been reduced to a dull throbbing ache, and there was no trace of her wounds. Only the floor pained her: it was gritty with red sand.

Very cautiously she stood, her legs wobbling from her torment, and examined her surroundings more closely. She knew the bedrock below Morgana's fortress at Ismir to be of sandstone, and riddled with caves. The fortress stood on a precarious point. She must be right underneath – under the fortress, in the caves of which very little was said. There were secrets down here – secrets, it was rumoured, that Morgana did not even know herself.

An intriguing enough history. But she didn't really care for legends. She wanted to know who had brought her down here and why.

Before she could call out a greeting or a question to anyone who might be hiding, she felt a whispering of something in her mind: a consciousness she recognised. The consciousness that had brought her here. It was the mind of a grand being, the greatest of all living creatures: a dragon. But it had been weakened somehow, or constrained, so that all she could sense of it was a terrible emotion. In the tendril that penetrated her mind now she felt that same fear, that same dread, pain, helplessness –

She couldn't bear it. She had come here to stop the suffering of the poor creature, hardly daring to believe that there might be a dragon left. Now she was free to continue in her mission.

_I shall help you,_ she said mentally; and emanating from the dragon's consciousness she felt a brief elation, a sensation of joy that, had the creature spoken, she knew would have been an expression of gratitude. She had made a promise. She had to keep to it.

All she needed to do was find the poor thing.


	2. Discovery

'Where is she?'

The terrifying silhouette of Morgana, robes billowing, hair untamed, projected itself onto the wall, closely followed by the witch herself, striding down the corridor, her shoes clattering on the floor. She pushed aside the guard to whom she had addressed the question; she advanced towards Mordred, whom she had not yet noticed. He slipped around the corner and held his breath. He knew that she referred to Morgana's prisoner, but he had no idea what had happened. However, he knew for a fact that Morgana usually suspected him as having a hand in things like this, even though she almost never expressed it.

'Mordred, where are you?'

He couldn't hide from her. He presented himself from his hiding-place, stopping her in her tracks.

'The girl has gone,' she said.

Already accusatory, he noticed. He didn't have anything to do with it, and he could swear to that, but he couldn't say that he wasn't slightly glad. She had been very young.

'What, she has escaped?' Mordred said.

'Or been rescued.' Her glittering eyes fell on his for just a moment, but she read nothing in his face.

'She'll be found before the day is up. She can't possibly escape us.'

With that, Morgana swept away, motioning for Mordred to follow her. Before he did, he sneaked a glance out of the window; it had been snowing overnight, and it had begun again, with icy flakes swirling in the bitter wind. Everything outside was white and treacherous. Had the girl escaped in that? He rather fancied her chances within the fortress instead of out in that blizzard.

He shuddered involuntarily, and turned away from the window; and with slightly leaden footsteps he went after Morgana.

* * *

><p>She followed the being's consciousness, not really caring whether she would meet any more of Morgana's men, determined to find the dragon who needed her help. She wound through the cave systems, stopping every so often at forks in the pathway before deciding with a slight uncertainty to go a particular direction; at length she came to a huge cavern, its ceilings vaulted like those of a cathedral, a natural chimney rising and narrowing until it reached the sky, which showed as a narrow pinprick of light above her. Ahead of her was a deep pool cut into the floor, with shimmering water, clear as glass.<p>

And then she saw the dragon.

It was not the magnificent creature of legends and fireside tales, kindred to the mighty dragons of old. It was a small and thin little thing, with thin flesh stretched across its bones, and its wings were almost transparent. But the aspect that gave the dragon beauty was its colour: a pure white, one that seemed to radiate from its scales and light up the chamber.

A smile came to her face as she beheld that which she had sought; but it faded when she saw how the dragon had been mistreated. It had not been starved, but it had been fed only the minimal required to keep it alive. Its consciousness was stronger now, pressing against her mind, trying to convey the terrible fear and sadness that the poor creature felt.

Instinctively she went over to it, her arm outstretched, wondering if it trusted humans after its ordeal. Luckily it seemed to trust her; it looked up at her with big, sad eyes and placed its head in her hand; and then, unexpectedly, it made a strange sound – a sort of groan, but more of a relieved sigh than a moan of despair.

'I am here,' she whispered.

_Friend._

The word surprised her: she had not known that the dragon could speak. She smiled, reassuring the creature that it spoke the truth, that she would help it in any way she could.

'What has Morgana done to you?'

It did not respond, its mental being retreating slightly. That gave her as good an answer as any. 'Do you have a name?' she asked, tactfully changing the subject.

The eyes again – the eyes that made her heart melt. _Aithusa._

The light of the Sun – a fitting and beautiful name. 'Mine is Ganieda.'

_Ganieda._

'I can help you,' she said. 'Where is the way out of here?'

Negation then filled its consciousness, seeming to say that there was no way out. She narrowed her eyebrows, questioning this. She had got here – it had got here – so surely there was some entrance or exit?

She stood, looking around her; there was only the way she had come here. One of the forks must have led somewhere else. So she resolved to trace her footsteps, this time with the dragon. Quickly she beckoned for Aithusa to follow her; he stood on thin, shaky legs, stretched out his gossamer wings and trotted after her.

* * *

><p>The mines were packed with people, all slogging away at the task that Morgana had set them. Mostly men, they hacked away at the rock with bare arms, their brows shining with the sweat of toil. At the entrance to the mine stood Morgana herself, her eyes surveying the room, searching for a particular young girl. At her side was the omnipresent Mordred; he too scanned the people, in case Morgana looked his way, but he did not see them. His mind was elsewhere.<p>

'Who is she anyway?' he asked at length.

Morgana turned to him suddenly. Her eyes flashed. 'Potentially very useful.'

He dared ask the question that he had kept to himself for so long. 'Does she really know where Emrys is? How can she know?'

She did not reply at first, instead leading him from the mine, coming into the empty corridor beyond to talk privately. 'I don't know how she knows, but I saw it in her mind. She may be our only hope.'

Now her eyes were wild, insane almost. Mordred knew how much the identity and location of Emrys meant to her – this quest was driving her mad. Even the mention of Arthur's Bane hadn't made her quite so frantic. She searched for this Bane in the background; that was what showed whilst in her mind the Emrys matter came to her again and again, raging within her. Anything she heard of Emrys – any mention, even by him – awoke this passion, this fury. And no wonder – he was, if the fates were anything to go by, her killer.

'I need to find the girl,' she said, very simply.

If the girl knew Emrys, she was a threat until found and controlled. Mordred knew Morgana's paranoid reasoning all too well. 'Can you find her with magic?'

'Do you think I haven't tried?' cried Morgana, looking more scared than angry.

He said nothing.

'We've looked almost everywhere. If she had escaped the castle, she would have left footprints, unless she's magic – we've searched the fortress, every inch – she's not in the mine –'

Suddenly she stopped. There was one place the guards hadn't looked. They didn't know where she kept – yes, that must be it. But how? – No, there was no time to contemplate.

'Mordred, follow me,' she commanded; and once again she swished away, leaving Mordred to think for just a moment before scurrying after her as if he were a familiar, unable to object or go his own way.

* * *

><p>Ganieda looked behind her as she heard the pitter-patter of Aithusa's footfalls stop. The dragon had paused, crouching as he had before, looking up at her with his puppy-dog eyes. She sighed in exasperation, wanting to get out of here as quickly as possible; but she did not berate the creature, knowing that he probably did not have very much energy at all.<p>

'Come on,' she whispered, daring to speak, talking to him in encouraging tones. 'Not far.'

_Not far_, she considered, grimacing. He knew better than she did how far it was to freedom – whether they were even going the right way.

Perhaps he had already betrayed her – perhaps he was leading her into a trap. Could he be? Ganieda looked into his mind again, and saw nothing but the cloud of sadness that lingered there. If he was hiding his true intent, he was cleverer than he appeared.

The corridor seemed to become lighter as they pressed on; the unearthly red light that had filled the caves now became softer, more natural. They were nearing the end; they were nearing freedom. So close! So close that she could taste liberty, the freshness of the air beyond the stuffy cave system, her escape from here.

Her escape, and Aithusa's. His was definitely more important than hers. A dragon – one of the last dragons! And she was going to save him. A fitting legacy. The thought sped her footsteps, made her jog with excitement –

Straight into the path of Morgana.

It had to fail. It was always going to fail. She was a captive once again, caught by Morgana, thrown at her feet as if nothing had happened, taken back to the same hall as before, tortured –


	3. Escape

'Do not be afraid.'

The words, spoken into the darkness, seemed to resonate, echoing around Ganieda as she tried to make sense of her situation. Had she been struck blind? – No; she had not opened her eyes. Slowly she did so, feeling a sense of déjà vu as she saw around her the same sandstone walls, the same gravelly floor. Once again she had ended up in this place; once again she had no idea how she had got here.

But it was the source of the voice that Ganieda most wanted to find. She span round, and there saw a figure: a thin, ghost-like blue shimmer, with a body that was roughly humanoid but hard to focus on. She squinted, and found herself looking up at the figure's face: it had an elongated head, giving it a strange and slightly disturbing look, but its expression was one of great kindness.

'Who are you?' asked Ganieda stupidly, wondering if this was a dream.

'I am the Diamair.'

The voice was raspy but definitely feminine; and though it sounded friendly it was tinged with sadness. It seemed to match the eyes of the creature, which were misty despite their smiling glow.

Carefully Ganieda sat up. 'I have not heard of you.'

'No. Few have.' The Diamair let out a sigh. 'My kindred are no more, forgotten in the minds of men. I have hidden here for so long now, keeping with me the secrets of my race and matters that should be kept from mortal knowledge.'

Her poetic speech lilted pleasantly; Ganieda felt an immediate trust for the being. 'Did you save me?'

The Diamair smiled.

'Thank you,' whispered Ganieda. 'But how can I escape here?'

'There are few ways to escape Ismir, and few ever do.' A pause. 'But the tides are changing. Salvation is coming. You need not fear.'

Bewildered, Ganieda rubbed her temples and sat awhile in thought, pondering what she ought to do. Should she trust the Diamair? She had trusted Aithusa, and he –

'Are you against Morgana?' she dared to ask.

The being did not answer, but the expression that came over her face gave a very definite response. A wave of relief washed over Ganieda.

'But I cannot stay here. There is a dragon –' She stopped mid-sentence, wondering if it was too late for Aithusa.

'If Morgana finds you again, she will kill you,' the Diamair said, its ethereal voice becoming more solid.

Ganieda knew this; but she no longer feared death, and she would far sooner die than stay in Morgana's fortress for ever. 'I must save Aithusa. There is still hope for him.'

'There is little hope for him now,' the Diamair said sadly. 'But there is yet hope for you. You will not have to stay here. There will be a way out in time. I can keep you safe meanwhile.'

* * *

><p>Time seemed to blur after that, and Ganieda found herself not wanting of food or drink, but instead sitting in silence and thinking of nothing; and she would be on the brink of sleeping and waking for a good amount of the time she remembered. What enchantment was behind this she did not know, but she knew that it would keep her alive until the time came to escape.<p>

The next time she was truly conscious of the place around her she looked up to see the Diamair standing over the body of a man. Ganieda started; was he dead? But then she caught her breath, for the man's bare chest rose and fell irregularly as he struggled to breathe. The muscles in his arms clenched at intervals, but he remained in his comatose state.

Then the Diamair turned to see Ganieda watching; she smiled comfortingly. 'You need not worry. He will recover.'

'But who is he? Another of Morgana's prisoners?' asked Ganieda.

The Diamair nodded and turned back to the man. She raised her arms; perhaps to cast a spell, but she did not get further than that. The sound of footsteps was echoing down the cave system; somebody was coming!

'I thought that these caves were safe!' said Ganieda in a frightened whisper.

Her protector did not reply but merely muttered some kind of spell. Suddenly the cave became pitch-black; Ganieda could see nothing before her, and she inhaled sharply at the change. She wanted to know what was going on but dared not ask: she could hear the footsteps coming closer, marching towards the very place in which she hid.

She held her breath, waiting for the footfalls to pass, her eyes widening in terror. She could not be found again. Not now! And this prisoner – and the Diamair – would they too be discovered?

It was at this point that she realised that she should not doubt the abilities of the Diamair – she should hold trust in her saviour, for there was nobody else to trust. So she waited, shivering slightly but trying not to be afraid; then the steps came very close, clattering on the hard floor, outside of the very cave –

And they passed. She did not see the men go, but she heard their footsteps walk past her – surely a very small distance from her – and then fade into the distance, going away, leaving her in safety once more.

'Will we be that lucky next time?' she asked in a whisper, more to herself than to anyone else.

There was no reply from the Diamair, but, contrary to the negation that Ganieda had expected, the creature seemed to exude a quiet confidence that made her feel safe still. She believed yet that she would escape from here - she believed that she had hope. And as long as she kept that hope, she would not despair of her situation. For now she was safe.

* * *

><p>When Ganieda next awoke from the curious not-sleep that the Diamair gave her, she saw that the man was awake; he looked towards her as she lifted her head. He acknowledged her presence with a friendly nod; then he introduced himself as Gwaine.<p>

'Ganieda,' she replied.

'What're you doing here?' he asked. It was an instinctive question and not a demanding one.

'The same as you,' she told him. 'I was taken prisoner by Morgana but, it seems, rescued by the Diamair.' She looked round. There was no sign of their rescuer, but she did not believe it to have abandoned them and so was curiously unafraid.

'Hm. I suppose you were in the mines as well?'

She shook her head. 'No, I was - ' She hesitated. 'At Morgana's insistence I was tortured for information.' She shuddered at the half-memory of the incident, which now seemed but a nightmare, fragmented and distorted as it was.

He inhaled sharply, expressing his horror with a grimace and a widening of his eyes. 'My God. She's...'

'A veritable monster,' Ganieda said bluntly.

They fell silent then, neither finding apt words to describe their feelings at that point. Both had experienced Morgana's doings, and neither had come away unscathed. Though they did not know each other, each instantly felt sympathy for the other. Ganieda's experience was beyond words; and judging from the bruises on his arms and the haggard look to his face, Gwaine hadn't been much better off.

At very great length Gwaine spoke again. 'You remind me of someone,' he said, to explain the fact that he had been staring at her for a good few moments. 'I just can't think who.'

She furrowed her brow. 'I - '

'Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?'

She was about to reply when the Diamair made a reappearance. It seemed pleased to see the pair both up, though a look of consternation came over its face, and a moment later they realised why: another patrol was coming. Quickly the light was extinguished; quickly they fell silent, shuffling against the wall of the cave, holding their breaths as the footsteps went by.

Once again they were not seen, but after the noise had vanished down the corridor the darkness still remained, and Ganieda began to feel drowsy. Within seconds she was asleep again, if one can call it sleep; and Gwaine with her.

* * *

><p>Her sleep was interrupted by the loud, jarring clang of a bell: one that seemed to vibrate through Ganieda's very being. She sat up in astonishment, and saw both Gwaine and the Diamair staring towards the entrance to the cave, looks of fear and apprehension in their eyes.<p>

'What is it?' she whispered.

They did not reply.

The bell yet tolled, seeming to herald danger, though the thought did cross Ganieda's mind that the danger was most likely on Morgana's side. The same thought seemed to occur to Gwaine: his eyes suddenly lit up and he stood, resolute and stronger than he had been before. Ganieda also stood; she kept her glance towards the entrance, listening intently for anyone - or anything - that might be coming near to them.

Then they heard the footsteps. They were running this time - pounding on the sandstone floor - coming towards them This was no patrol. Ganieda exchanged glances with Gwaine; he grimaced and stood in front of her, protecting her. This made her feel slightly embarrassed - she didn't want someone who didn't know her risking his life for her.

'They're here,' whispered Ganieda in panic as the steps rounded the corner. A figure - two figures - emerged from the darkness, and Gwaine lashed out with a stick that he had picked up somewhere. The wood whipped through the air but the figure caught it. Ganieda held her breath, feared the worst -

'Arthur!' cried Gwaine. 'Am I glad to see you!'

'You know him?' asked Ganieda. She stared at the newcomers. The man who had stopped Gwaine's attack was a tall, imposing sort of man; though his face was friendly enough, his eyebrows at least were decidedly arrogant. A sudden thought crossed her mind as she connected the name with the face. Wasn't the King of Camelot called Arthur?

Arthur's companion was a man of about the same age - a servant probably, given his scruffy clothes and lack of armour. His was a far friendlier visage; his mischievous eyes were of a twinkling blue, and he grinned when he saw Gwaine and Ganieda.

'Who's this?' asked the servant, indicating Ganieda.

'Ganieda,' she said, not wanting there to be any lengthy introductions. Could this be their escape at last? 'What is the way out?'

'This way,' called Arthur, who had already begun to leave. Without saying any more they all headed after him; and Ganieda felt within her optimism at last. If Camelot was here, they were surely saved. Weren't they?


	4. Merlin

They scurried through the caves, and Ganieda, Gwaine and the servant all struggled to keep up with the long strides of the King of Camelot. All the time Ganieda looked around her, seeing fleeting shadows on the sandstone walls, hearing noises in the corridor ahead. She did not doubt the men of Camelot. Albion was the strongest of the kingdoms, and its king an excellent warrior and chivalrous ruler. He would make sure that she was safe, she knew, for this had shown in his face the moment he had recognised her as a prisoner and not on Morgana's side.

'Did you say your name was Ganieda?' asked the servant, a little breathlessly as he jogged alongside the others.

She nodded.

'I'm Merlin,' he said, offering her an awkward handshake.

'Stop flirting, Merlin,' Arthur scolded him from up ahead.

'I'm not –' Merlin sighed and shook his head good-naturedly. 'He's always like that,' he explained.

Just then he broke off as Ganieda stopped suddenly, feeling a familiar consciousness brush against hers, pushing into her mind a feeling of despair and pain – a feeling which she now suspected to be false. Angrily she clenched her fists at her side. Was Aithusa here? Was he going to betray her again? Was he with Morgana?

'Look out!' she cried, not knowing what else to say, and just in time: for a blast of fire hissed out from behind a corner, and, following somewhat recklessly in its wake, Arthur at the head found himself face-to-face with a dragon.

'Aithusa...' Ganieda whispered, trying to force into his mind a suggestion of friendship, of the fact that she could yet save him. But the dragon did not heed her, and instead drew himself back and breathed another stream of flames towards them.

She felt the heat on her face, scrambling backwards, half-tugged by Merlin. Recognising the place, she called out: 'There is another way. That fork will take you above ground. Quickly!'

And Merlin added, 'You should find Percival, get him out of here too! I'll see if I can get the dragon out of the way.'

Arthur and Gwaine sped off, and Merlin made to go towards Aithusa – but then he noticed Ganieda. She had stayed, and was staring at him in a strange way. Either she admired him or thought he was stupid. He couldn't sometimes tell which.

'You should go, Ganieda,' he said.

'The dragon will not be subdued,' said Ganieda very authoritatively. 'He is a servant of Morgana. He serves only her, and is entirely at her command.'

'That's why you need to go,' said Merlin.

She gave him a look, and then rounded the corner, giving the impression of leaving. But she did not leave. She knew that Aithusa was dangerous and would not leave this brave – if a bit foolish – boy at the hands of this two-faced dragon.

And from her vantage-point she watched Merlin approach the dragon. Aithusa looked up at this, blinking at him, and then leaned back and released another jet of fire. But Merlin barely flinched, holding up his hand, muttering something – and the flames stopped before him as if coming against an invisible wall.

_He has magic!_ Ganieda realised with a jolt.

'Aithusa!' said Merlin, somewhat in shock. This surprised Ganieda as well – Merlin too knew the dragon. So he wasn't such a fool as she had thought. Then with a shudder she wondered if he was in fact on Morgana's side – but she knew that that probably wasn't right, given the reactions of the dragon to Merlin's presence.

'What's happened to you?' cried Merlin, his voice aching with sympathy and astonishment. 'What's Morgana done to you?' He knelt, but the dragon did not respond. Nothing emanated from his mind: he was acting dumb. The eyes of the creature betrayed no emotions, but merely stared into him, willing him, it seemed, to turn back.

'You can't speak...'

Ganieda was on the point of telling him that the creature was lying, that he could speak – but then the dragon released more fire from its maw, and Merlin stopped it only just in time.

And then the young man stood and, in a voice that was not his usual tone, in a voice that echoed with power – with absolute command – he spoke words that Ganieda had never heard in her life before, but knew to be of some ancient and magnificent tongue, perhaps as old as the dragons themselves.

And then, just as the dragon turned in terrified awe and hurried away down the corridor, a solitary word came to Ganieda's mind: _Dragonlord_. For did it not fit, that this man with such magic and power over the dragons should be one of the old and mighty race of Dragonlords? And yet how could that be? Thoughts whirled in her mind, and she only just had time to clear them before Merlin turned back and caught sight of her.

'Ganieda!' he cried. 'I told you to turn back!'

His eyes flashed, and for a moment she thought that he would cast a spell; but no, he calmed the anger that seemed to well up inside of him.

'I shall not tell your companions what I have seen,' she said quickly, remembering the most infamous and terrible law that Albion had: that magic was outlawed. If this man was of Camelot...

His eyes were scared now; he knew that his greatest secret was now in the hands of another – in the hands of on whom he did not know whether he could trust. 'Swear to it.'

He advanced on her, intimidating her: he was not a big person, but he stood a good few inches taller than her, and he definitely held more power within him. She put her hand over her heart, her fist clenched. 'I swear.'

'Say no more of it,' commanded Merlin, almost in the same tone that he had used with the dragon. 'Come on. We should get out of here.'

* * *

><p>Ganieda kept pace with Merlin as they ran back through the tunnels, at times leading, for she knew the way and was keen to get out and to save Merlin as well. Soon they would reach the place where she had been caught last time; she felt a sudden terror that the same would happen again.<p>

'I can hear voices,' said Merlin suddenly.

They stopped at a fork in the corridor. The left-hand tunnel echoed with alternate pleas and scornful replies. They could not hear the conversation properly, as it was distant and distorted, but the owners of the voices were evident.

'That's Arthur,' realised Merlin. 'And Morgana! Ganieda, this won't be safe.'

'Nor will staying here,' said Ganieda as suddenly the sound of footsteps came to them down the right-hand fork. 'Run!'

And they set off again, skidding to a halt at a room that was lit by torchlight. There they saw Arthur – there they saw Morgana. The former was haggard, pleading, even sympathetic, Ganieda thought as the light fell on him. The latter stood with her back to them, but whirled round as soon as she heard them coming.

'You...' whispered Morgana.

Merlin made to reply, believing her to be talking about him; but as he stepped forwards Morgana shot out her hand, blasting Merlin against the wall with a wordless spell, a raw display of her power. Now she stared at Ganieda with angry, flaming eyes; now she advanced upon her.

And she pushed Ganieda back with the same spell that she had used on Merlin; the girl seemed to hover in the air, her limbs splayed, before crashing back to the ground and slipping into unconsciousness.

'Morgana!' yelled Arthur, rage tinting his voice as he beheld the two prone forms, unknowing of whether they were dead or not, not really caring what Morgana did to him as long as they were all right; and Morgana turned at his yell, her eyes blazing, her hand spread, her fingers all pointed towards him.

And she tossed her hair back, a black veil, and began to pronounce an incantation, her voice echoing majestically; and Arthur knew that this was the end, that he couldn't escape, that she was going to kill him –

All of a sudden the cave fell silent. Morgana's mouth gaped but she made no sound; her face contorted with pain, and her whole self writhed. Arthur stumbled backwards as she pitched towards him; and then, looking up in astonishment, he saw Mordred behind Morgana, holding the blade with which he had stabbed the witch.

He gaped, wondering if he was in some delirium brought about by magic or even by his own death. All was yet silent, and seemed to go in slow motion. Why had Mordred –?

Morgana collapsed, and the boy Mordred (for he was still but a boy) looked in surprise, horror even at what he had done as his fingers at last uncurled from the handle of the dagger. But he did not seem to dwell on it; he pushed the twitching Morgana aside and ran to Arthur, whose legs had gone weak. Mordred extended a hand to him; Arthur stared.

'Well, come on then,' Mordred said, grasping the King's hand and pulling him up.

Arthur's expression changed to one of cheerful disbelief; he still did not know if what he saw was true, but he let Mordred tug him to his feet. He ran his free hand over his brow, rubbing his forehead; and then the pair sped off in search of the knights.

* * *

><p>Ganieda opened her eyes very slowly, sighing as she once again felt the horrid taste in her mouth that signified having been knocked out. For a moment she couldn't remember the blow; then she recalled the skirmish with Morgana.<p>

Where was she?

She blinked, clearing her eyes; and then she realised that she was in some sort of woodland. Above her dappled light shone through the trees. The snow that had covered Morgana's fortress – that had been her downfall – was absent here, replaced by a sort of musty dampness that implied the forests to the south; and a light mist was between the trees, giving the place an atmosphere that wasn't all that unpleasant.

And then she heard voices, and sat up to find that she was by a tree on the edge of some sort of rough camp; and within the camp was a band of red-cloaked Camelot knights, all sitting round a fire that sent smoke towards a break in the canopy. From where she was sitting she could recognise Arthur, who grinned as if nothing had happened, chatting animatedly and very un-regally with those who surrounded him. None of them had noticed Ganieda, who studied the group with mildly interested eyes; the thought that dominated her mind was that she was safe and that she had been rescued. No longer did she have to fear anything.

Satisfied by this, she smiled vaguely and leaned back against the tree; tiredness at the chaos of the last few days had overtaken her, and she was asleep before she felt the bark behind her back.


	5. Secrets

The next morning arrived with the sound of a blackbird among the trees, twittering and singing as it danced between the branches, heralding a beautiful sunrise and such a calm and peaceful morning that Ganieda had not known for a good while now. It was not warm but the dry air was not unpleasant. She breathed in a few deep gulps of it, clearing her head and trying to remember where she was for a moment before stretching and looking around. None of the knights were awake: evidently they were far enough away from danger to enjoy a lie-in.

'Morning,' said a cheery voice to the side of her. Startled, Ganieda looked around to see Merlin, who had, it seemed, been allocated the night's last watch.

'Morning,' she replied, yawning.

'Sleep well?' he asked, keeping his voice down so as not to wake the others.

'Yes... Are you all right?' said Ganieda suddenly, remembering that Merlin too had been knocked out by Morgana.

'Course I am,' he grinned. 'I'm always all right.'

Ganieda decided that she liked his smile and his bumbling optimism. He seemed remarkably resilient – though, of course, that was probably a result of his powers.

His voice lowered further then, and he leaned in closer, sitting beside her. 'Is the promise still a promise?' he asked her.

She knew straight away that he referred to her keeping his secret. She nodded earnestly. 'Of course it is. I swore, remember?'

Merlin smiled, but not so brightly as before. 'Had you come across Aithusa before?' he asked.

'It was Aithusa that brought me to the castle,' Ganieda admitted, saying before Merlin what she had previously kept secret. She knew his greatest secret – she could trust him with hers. 'I felt his mind. He called to me, despairing, and I followed... damned fool that I was.' She sighed, her fists balling as she remembered how she had been tricked. 'And so I was captured by Morgana.'

Merlin nodded sympathetically, and the pair fell silent for a moment. Ganieda's eyes scanned the camp once again, watching as the mist unfurled slowly from the sleeping forms of the knights; and then she gasped out loud, squinting into the fog in shock.

'What?' asked Merlin, starting.

'That's not... that's Mordred!' said Ganieda, forgetting to lower her voice. She raised a trembling finger, pointing towards the men, indicating the man who was indeed Mordred amongst them. The man slept soundly, and was the only one apart from Merlin who was not swathed in or resting on a rich scarlet cloak. His hair covered his face in part but he was unmistakeable.

'You know him?' asked Merlin.

'He...' Ganieda took a breath. 'What's he doing here? He's Morgana's servant! He's on the other side!'

'He saved Arthur's life, apparently,' Merlin explained. 'Arthur told me that he stabbed Morgana – in the back, naturally,' he added, somewhat scathingly, and Ganieda smiled slightly; 'and then helped Arthur to escape and find the other knights.'

'So he's not loyal to Morgana any more?' said Ganieda, more than a bit sceptical.

'It seems not.'

A hint of scepticism seemed to emanate from Merlin's voice too; Ganieda looked at him with new curiosity. 'What is it?' she asked of him.

'Nothing... nothing,' Merlin replied, shaking his head.

A silence again. The morning was quiet, save for the occasional sounds of the early-rising blackbird and a competing robin that had flown into the low foliage. The Sun had risen enough to illuminate the branches and cast long shadows beneath them, but it was still rather early.

'Where are you from?' Merlin asked at length, turning back to Ganieda.

'Tunyncel,' replied Ganieda. 'It is a small village, on the border of Albion and Essetir.'

Merlin thought for a moment. 'Oh! Really? Essetir's where I grew up. Ealdor, actually.'

'You probably wouldn't know Tunyncel,' Ganieda said. 'It's just a few farms. There's ours, and a couple more.'

'Who do you live with?' Merlin asked, delving into more normal conversation as the girl opened up.

'My stepmother. Milburga. My stepfather died eight years ago.'

'Did you never know your real parents?'

Ganieda's face fell. Merlin instantly regretted the question; but she answered it regardless. 'My mother died when I was just two. My father...' She fell silent again. Merlin did not pursue the matter.

It was just at that point when some of the knights began to get up. Gwaine, who had been asleep quite near to the pair, yawned hugely and sat up, carelessly rolling up his cloak with bleary eyes. He blinked to focus and then bade a cheery (if tired) good morning to Merlin, and then, after a hesitation as if remembering who she was, to Ganieda.

'Morning,' said Ganieda in return.

As his eyes came into focus Gwaine blinked again. 'I've just realised who you remind me of,' Gwaine said, addressing Ganieda but looking from her to Merlin. He might have said something else, but they did not hear it; Merlin and Ganieda exchanged somewhat puzzled glances before realising what he meant. Ganieda saw Merlin in a new light: he did indeed have the same dark, tufty hair and bright eyes, though his were of a much more brilliant blue than hers. The resemblance was quite striking however, and she shrugged at Gwaine with a confused smile.

That was when a magnificent thought struck her, so magnificent and ridiculous that she laughed before shaking her head as if to clear it.

'What?' asked Merlin.

'Merlin... when you spoke to Aithusa...'

'Mm?' asked Merlin, looking around him quickly. The other knights were starting to get up but none of them were within earshot.

'You're not... you're not a Dragonlord, are you?'

The word made Merlin start even more, his eyes flashing at the surroundings, settling on Arthur for more than a second, who was several metres away and talking to another knight. 'Well... I suppose since you saw... it's pretty obvious,' he said, blushing slightly. 'But definitely don't mention that to Arthur. Or anyone.' His eyes were rather fearful now, she noticed. 'You do realise I'm entrusting you with all my greatest secrets?'

'Who... from whom... from whom did you inherit that title?'

Merlin seemed reluctant to answer, so Ganieda, much to his astonishment, declared that she had more than a little knowledge of the Dragonlords, and even named a couple.

'If you're around my age, then... There's Oswine – he was alive then – or Hereward, he was killed by King Uther not long after I was born... or... or... Balinor...'

The look on Merlin's face gave her her answer, and it was all she could do not to jump up in astonishment and wonderment. 'Then...'

'What?' said Merlin, slightly worried now at her eagerness.

Their conversation, which was becoming somewhat more interesting, was then interrupted rather rudely by a shout from Arthur. 'Merlin! Where on this Earth is my breakfast?'

The yell was cheerful enough, and accompanied by a twinkling glance in Merlin's direction by the King. A few of the other knights smiled good-naturedly, knowing by now Arthur and Merlin's quirks. But Merlin simply cried out an unsmiling, 'Coming, sire,' before standing, but then he stopped, looking back down at Ganieda.

'We are, aren't we?' he asked her.

'We are what?' said Ganieda.

'...Related.'

'Well, you're allowed to be a little more cheerful about it,' Ganieda said, her mischievous grin then exactly matching one of Merlin's. 'Now you've met your half-sister.'

'Merlin! Are you coming or not? I'm starving!'

Merlin nearly fell over. He hadn't heard a word of what Arthur had just said. 'But how...?'

'Stop flirting with Ganieda and get over here!'

'I'm not flirting!' Merlin managed to say. 'That would be very wrong,' he said then, more to himself. 'Very wrong...'

And suddenly he grinned at Ganieda, and she flashed him an identical grin; and then Merlin bounded off to join his master, and Ganieda could only watch with a heart full of the greatest joy that she had ever known.

FINIS

* * *

><p><em>The end of this story, but not the end of the saga. The tale begun here - for it is only begun - will continue in <em>Ganieda_, a fanfiction that I shall begin presently. In the meantime, do let me know what you think of the saga thus far!_

_The story of Morgana's insatiable thirst for knowledge of Emrys continues, of course, in the fifth series of _Merlin_, which I claim no rights to but which might be useful background for this story and for sequels._


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